Page 39 of Bound to a Killer
Fuck it.
Walking over, I ease myself next to her, my muscles just as tense as they were the previous time. I gently wrap an arm around her as I try to lull her out of her nightmare with a soft hum, gently threading my other hand through her hair, avoiding the knots as I massage her scalp.
“It’s okay,” I whisper. “Nothing can hurt you while I'm here.”
Her whimpers die down gradually the longer I keep reassuring her, but the tension in her forehead remains. I patiently continue the same rhythmic pattern until she’s back asleep, convincing myself that this is enough retribution for all my sins, the one and only thing I can offer her. She feels so warm in my arms, comforted by my touch when she’s not even aware that I’m here.
It’s hard to pull myself away. My head grows heavy again.
Maybe I’ll stay for just a few more minutes. But short minutes turn into longer ones, until I somehow drift off right along with her.
Muffledmoans come from somewhere beside me, faint but persistent, not enough to fully stir me awake. Instinctively, I press into the solid warmth at my side, chasing the pleasure it offers and letting a husky, pent-up groan slip out in the process.
Soft, feminine sighs suddenly turn into a sharp gasp, instantly jerking me wide awake. My movements still. Muscles tense. Peering into her rounded eyes, she’s breathless and frozen.
Fuck.
How did I let myself drift off like that again?
She looks terror-stricken.
I mutter a curse under my breath, pushing back to get up, but her hand shoots out, her fingers curling around my sleeve. The touch stops me cold in my tracks.
“Stay,” she murmurs.
“Don’t,” I warn, my voice low.
Fogginess clouds my head, and for a moment, I think I’m still not completely awake. She lets go of my sleeve.
She looks so small next to me, quietly drawing my attention again.
My eyes drift down her neck, at the marks left by that vermin who is now ash again with the Earth. She’s in a vulnerable state right now, and I’m not the right kind of man to be pushing buttons with. This is a dangerous game for her to be playing.
A mistake.
Whatever she thinks she’s doing, it’s only going to make things worse.
Hurt flashes in her eyes, and damn if it doesn't stir something protective inside me. Her lips part, but no words come out, just her warm breaths grazing against my skin. She licks her pink, plush lips, wincing when her tongue runs over the tiny cut. My eyes track the movement, the little action feeding the hunger growing inside me. I want to reach out and touch her.
Consequences and morals be damned.
It’s not like they’ve ever stopped me before.
“Please,” she begs, her voice breaking.
My throat tightens. “Why?”
“Because all I can taste and feel is him.”
Her answer hits like a blow to my gut. She’s trying to erase yesterday’s memory with one she can pick and control herself.
I stare back at her, jaw clenched, every muscle in my body just as tense.
God, I’m so fucked in the head for even thinking about letting her have it her way. For convincing myself that this might actually help her.
I know it’s sick. I’m sick.
The right thing to do here is get up and walk away, but who am I kidding? I’ve never done the right thing in my life.
